


Descent

by channelorange72



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst o’clock, F/F, Hurt and comfort, Just Eve being a tiresome think-bucket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/channelorange72/pseuds/channelorange72
Summary: Eve ponders the seven sins.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 11
Kudos: 36





	Descent

You bite my lips, and the bitter flavor of my own blood startles me. The pleasure, bordering on pain, makes me hate you, makes me hate myself for needing this more than I need to breathe.

You really are devouring me. Your tongue is insistent, your mouth too hard, too demanding. Your eyes glint with pleasure when you lick my lips and share the taste of my blood, savoring it like rich, dark wine. I am both terrified and aroused when you press your tongue into the wound. With the tip of your tongue, you caress my bitter pain.

I have denied this for too long. This thing that promises to consume and dismantle me. 

**Pride**. That was my first sin. Proud of my own self-control, my career, my family. Until at last, my pride became the one thing that kept me from any and all comfort.

You dig your fingers into my wrists, holding them over my head—each pressure point a threatening promise beckoning me. If I resist, if I so much as utter the word, you will release me. You will leave me here and walk away. Shaking, standing on some high precipice of understanding that still threatens to swallow me whole.

Standing on the precipice of hell, I see the demons waiting for me, awaiting their turn to ravish me with fiery organs and flesh-tearing instruments of eternal torture. Desire is the Achilles Heel of Fear.

 **Lust**. My second sin. I want this. I want you. I swallow the word even as it rises like bile in the back of my throat. I crave it more than I fear it.

I feel the agony of separation when you rip our mouths apart. Your forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard. Regaining our balance.

You're so beautiful, you make my bones melt. I tear at your clothing. My clumsy fingers yank and pull at your own inconvenient coverings, desperate to get to your skin. A fierce, bitter struggle, fought in panting, heated silence with neither of us wanting to give in and submit.

You move away from me, eyes hungry as you reach behind to undo your bra. I watch, transfixed as the scrap of plain black satin slides down, catches for a moment on one hardened nipple, then flutters gracefully to the floor. You are perfect.

For a moment, I forget to breathe. I am almost afraid to touch you. My eyes trace upwards. You have been watching me admire you. I feel a ridiculous blush creep over my face and shoulders.

You stretch a hand towards me, and I see how your fingers tremble as you reach for a lock of hair that has fallen between my breasts. You catch it gently, smoothing it up and over my shoulder until it tumbles down my back, your eyes never leaving mine.

I reach for the hand resting on my shoulder. Grasping you by the wrist, I bring your palm to my mouth and suckle your flesh, keeping my eyes locked with yours. I pull you towards me until we are inches apart until I can feel your labored breath against my face. I slide my mouth across your palm until I reach the heel of your hand, and then I touch your lips with my own.  
I accept my own damnation as I kiss you.

Is this love? There is no tenderness or quiet pleasure here. This is demanding, unforgiving, carnal, animalistic hunger. My third sin must, therefore, be **Gluttony**. Not for food but for you.

Your mouth feels like fire on my throat. Each touch of your lips causes my skin to blister and blacken, the nerves shrieking with unbearable pleasure. This intoxicating pleasure feels like torture. The torture is the knowledge that I have denied myself this for so long. In the end, I know this agonizing pleasure will be our undoing.

I rake reddened furrows of passion down your back with my freed hands, and you arch into me. I feel your moan reverberate through every inch of my skin.

 **Greed** , my fourth sin. I have longed for you. I have longed for your touch for so long that in this moment, I would sell my soul for it.

As your mouth devours me, I feel your fingers part me. My thighs move apart of their own accord, and I note the triumph of such compliance in the possessive sweep of your tongue down my neck. Your lips wrap around my nipple. Your fingers on the other, tugging, pulling, pinching, and tweaking until the pain and pleasure are the same.

Your hands glide over my skin, leaving a raw and bleeding wasteland behind. To be on the receiving end of your undivided focus feels unnerving and intoxicating.

 **Envy** , my fifth sin. Despite your obvious hunger, you are never caught up in the guilt or doubt of wanting something you cannot have. You do not seem tortured by it at all. How are you so sure of what you want? You know how to use power. You don't just fumble around with it like everyone else. You fear nothing, and I envy that.

The sixth sin, for me, is **Wrath**. This moment that I've fantasized about in the dark recesses of my mind a million times before has become hell for me. The desire that bloomed in me when I first laid eyes on you has become intertwined with my own dread and uncertainty. It is through this veil of anger that I feel you.

I feel consumed from the inside out when you are inside me. I feel my body spring into glorious, terrible life after all the long, long months of ice. I find tears streaming from my eyes, and I cannot tell if they are from pain or pleasure. This heat of friction and delight is turned into a curse of my own making. My mind splits on the dichotomy of this ultimate bliss and the damnation that awaits me.

I lean forward and sink my teeth into your skin. As the fire consumes us, I take the hard tendon of your shoulder in my mouth to stifle my cries and to make you feel some measure of my pain.

Your blood tastes bitter in my mouth.

We are poor condemned souls unable to achieve anything but our own downfall. As my exhausted limbs start to shake, I feel my tears slide down to fall onto the wounds I have given you. You do not flinch at the sting.  
I feel your grip immediately loosen, and you cradle me softly. I feel your fingers weave through my hair, your manicured nails scraping my scalp.

You whisper my name over and over, an urgent, fevered prayer whispered into my skin, your voice a strange, erotic mix of unconfined desire and tentative hope, a sinister variation on the well-modulated huskiness that always makes me go weak in the knees.

But there is no redemption for us here. I cannot save you. I can not even save myself if I tried. So, I weep bitter, angry tears all the harder for it.

You ask me if I'm okay. What do you expect me to say when you ask me this? How can I explain how futile all of this is? I feel anger flare deep inside me when you put the burden of shattering this delicate moment of peace on me. I have given in to **Sloth** every now and again, and right now, I just want to lay here and bask in our shared destruction. But you don't let me, you press me for answers I cannot give.

Your eyes bore into me. I don't think I've ever seen someone look so vulnerable and threatening, all at the same time. We are truly lost, aren't we?

I see the truth of your words and how much you fear my answer.

You do love me. I search your eyes with a terrified frenzy, and swallow the molten ball of regret and impossible dreams, and force a smile. Every time I look at you, I feel dismantled. When I answer, it is not a lie. I would not be in hell if it were. This intoxicating waltz, which began what feels like lifetimes ago, would not be half so bad if I didn't love you.

You wrap yourself around me. The blood and sweat and skin make me feel feverish. You kiss impossible promises into my skin. I allow you to think my tears are of joy. I am well past my breaking point, but I want this feeling to go on for just a few seconds longer, because your voice and your closeness creates a bright shimmering haze where all my concepts of pride and desire and fear, flit and blur and bleed confusingly together.

I'm afraid. Yes, I fear for us both.

We're both so bloodied by this chaotic dance that we lean on one another to try and support the other, only to find it burdens the both of us, it eats away at the both of us, leaving us exhausted beyond repair.

We spin and sway until our feet are bloody, exhausted, and spent, lost in the madness of a force we cannot identify.

**********************

I have always loved the dark. It hides the good and the bad. The dark allows you to be anybody or anything. In the dark, no one can watch you bleed.

The streetlight from the window steals the perfect solitude of absolute blackness. I watch as the streetlight outlines your gentle curves, like a halo. But with your back to me, you reveal nothing.

Maybe it's fitting. You are my salvation. My one true chance at redemption.

I know you'd roll your eyes at being considered angelic.

As I cradled your body against mine, reassuring myself of your heartbeat, I heard you weeping. I felt the tiny tremors of despair against my chest.

It seemed like telling me you love me, giving me those words, were harder for you than giving me your body.

You think I don't understand, don't you? Why is it that we wound each other when you know we're meant to be together? You are convinced that we've lost something by taking this step. I know how much this thing between us frightens you.

But don't you understand that we have nothing left to lose? They control everything. They can take away everything from me except you. I would never, ever let them take you away, take this away, from us.

Maybe I am looking for forgiveness. If I can make you come hard enough, I can somehow restore all that I've taken from you. Maybe I thought that if I could just fuck what I feel for you into you, it would somehow heal the wounds.

I allow the soothing rhythm of your breathing to lull me to sleep. Shallow and restful.

I can hear your heartbeat if I lay my head right here on your shoulder. In the still of the night, mine is louder, it's in my ear, after all. But yours is there. Strong and steady.

Maybe we should stay like this. Spooned together. Forever.

I can't let you go. I need you too much.

Without you, I think I might cease to exist. I'm real only so long as you love me. If you take that away, I'm left with nothing.

The heat of your body warms me as the fire of your soul keeps me alive. Do you feel your hand on my breast in your sleep? Yes, I think you can. Your nipple has become tight and rubbery against my palm.

I don't want to wake you. I'd never deprive you of dreamless, peaceful sleep. I just need to hold you. To assure myself that you are real. I know I am alive because you are. Maybe it is just for one more day, one more week, one more year. But there is comfort in it.

I only wish I could somehow comfort you, as well.

*****************

**Author's Note:**

> The tone and voice of this story is not something I’m very comfortable with, so please do excuse any jarring flaws. I do have a multi-chapter fic in the works, but I just had to get this one-shot out of my head.  
> Feedback would be very much appreciated. Thank you, as always, for reading!! <3


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